


go to bed (before you say something real)

by goforth



Category: New Girl (TV 2011)
Genre: F/M, but it's definitely nick/jess, jess and reagan's relationship is canon, meaning they're not girlfriends but they are dating, nick miller is oblivious but we love him anyway, not quite a get together, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goforth/pseuds/goforth
Summary: When Reagan agrees to officially move into the loft, Schmidt makes her sign the No Nail Oath of Loft 4D. It causes some unforeseen problems.
Relationships: Jessica Day & Reagan Lucas, Jessica Day/Nick Miller, Reagan Lucas/Nick Miller
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	go to bed (before you say something real)

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine included rewatching New Girl (more than a few times) and I finally found the inspiration to type out this little idea. All credit goes to Fox, Elizabeth Meriwether, Jake Johnson's instagram, and Netflix. I had to play around with the timing of Season 6, which is why I consider this an AU. Title comes from "I Always Knew" by The Vaccines, which is the superior New Girl song.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so please don't judge me too hard!

“Welcome to the Official Signing of the Lease Agreement of 2016. As you all know, my beautiful bride Cece could not make it today, but I wanted to thank you for coming on such short notice. The first printed banner was absolutely  _ atrocious. _ I mean, they chose Sans Serif without consulting me first. What kind of imbecile doesn’t use Helvetica? What are we, some slutty sorority on Recruitment Weekend?”

Nick lets out a short, disgruntled groan as he sets his beer down. He absolutely hates loft meetings. “Why do we even need a banner, Schmidt? Reagan’s already lived here. She knows about the Use the Caddy, I’ll Be Less Chatty clause. This’ll take two seconds, max.”

“I kind of like the banner,” notes Winston. He’s got a sort of wistful smile on his face as he inspects the white paper, the words  **SIGNING OF THE LEASE CEREMONY** written in blue taking up the space. “It adds a real sense of importance.”

“Thank you, Winston.” Schmidt nods courteously in response, pointedly ignoring Nick as he continues on. His hands fly animatedly as he talks. “Now, as we all know, we’re taking a real risk here. Going from one-too-many tenants to three-too-many-tenants could shake the foundations of 4D as we know it —”

“Also, you know, the possibility of eviction.”

“Yes,  _ Jess, _ we are aware. Please save any comments or questions until the end.” Jess ducks her head into the glass of wine she’s holding (red, because she’s been instructed to take this seriously, and pink would send her into a real twirly, depressed tailspin) and closes her mouth. Schmidt sighs before resuming, the sounds of Pomp and Circumstance in the background threatening to drown him out. “As I was saying, it is important that Reagan signs all the accompanying documentation to ensure she knows the rules to maintain equilibrium. Reagan, did you look over the PDF I sent you last night?”

Reagan, who’s seated next to Nick and trying her hardest not to look impossibly bored, sits up abruptly. “Oh, uh, yes. Looks good. Though, actually, I did have a question on one of the agreements you wanted me to sign…”

“Oh, was it the Kitchen Condom Clause? Yeah, you know, that was kind of a weird time in my life. I was going through a lot of stuff at the time. Getting a lot of sex, though, too, you know, which is how the condoms got stuck in the sink in the first place…”

Schmidt all but screams in an attempt to cut him off. “Winston! Please! Enough about the condoms, God!”

Reagan purses her lips together, her eyes slightly widened. She finds herself locking eyes with Jess for a moment, who simply shakes her head as if to say,  _ Don’t ask. _ “Uh, yeah, no. Not that one. I was actually wondering about something called the… No Nail Oath? What is that?”

Nick instantly looks up from the table at that. “What the hell, Schmidt? You asked my girlfriend to sign the No Nail Oath?!”

“Yeah, Schmidt, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Jess sets down her glass and looks over at Nick briefly. She can feel her cheeks warming at the thought, but she manages to flick her wrist casually. “I mean, you guys came up with that thing like, six years ago.”

Reagan’s still looking down at the piece of paper in front of her, eyes scanning hopelessly for some sort of answer. “I’m still a little lost, can someone tell me what it is? It just looks like a bunch of redacted lines of text.”

“The  _ No Nail Oath, _ Reagan, was created in the summer of 2011, when Jessica Day first moved into the loft. It outlines that none of the other roommates will nail her unless it is beneficial to all remaining parties. And it is  _ absolutely _ necessary.”

Jess huffs in her seat. “I’m still offended by that, you know.”

“And besides, Schmidt, Nick ended up nailing her like… a bunch of times,” offers Winston.

“Yeah I did.” It takes Nick’s expression to go from proud, to horrified, to regretful in an impressively short amount of time. Of course, it probably helps that Reagan turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised and head cocked to the side. “Because, y’know, we were…  _ Jess _ and I had the whole… And I mean,  _ obviously _ we don’t anymore… And anyway, Schmidt, Reagan doesn’t need to sign that stupid oath!”

She chooses to look at Nick for one uncomfortable beat longer before turning back to look at Schmidt. “Yeah, I don’t want to sign this.”

“I feel like maybe I should get a say in this. You know, because it  _ is _ referring to me —”

“Reagan has to sign all accompanying agreements when moving into this loft!” As far as Schmidt outbursts go, this one’s pretty good. “Without rules we’re just chickens flying outside the coop! Eat-Eating each other’s poop and having chicken or-orgies and letting all the baby chicks die because we’re too busy doing each other outside the coop! 4D is an inside the coop apartment!”

“Wow,” whistles Winston.

“Chicken orgies?” asks Jess.

“Everyone knows chickens don’t have sex, Schmidt! That’s ridiculous! They’re  _ birds, _ they lay eggs,” exclaims Nick.

“How do you think the eggs get there, Nick?” whispers Reagan.

“ENOUGH! Reagan will sign the No Nail Oath! End of discussion!”

So Reagan signs the No Nail Oath of Apartment 4D.

.  
.  
.

Later, when the wine is all gone and Cece comes home and Winston heads to bed with a misplaced longing for a new cat bed that  _ definitely _ does not relate to Aly’s time away at the academy, Nick finds himself in his bedroom alone with Reagan.

Which, like, makes sense. She lives here now. Officially. They are two grown adults in a serious and committed relationship with four other roommates. One of which happens to be his ex-girlfriend, whom he’d ignored his steadfast  _ Don’t shit where you eat, Nicky Miller! _ rule for, and slept with. Multiple times. And created such a mess with that, way back when, before he even really knew her, he’d been forced to sign a dumb No Nail Oath. The same oath that now adorns his new girlfriend’s signature.

So, yeah. Everything’s fine; nothing to see here.

He steals a glance at her, his new girlfriend, his Official Girlfriend, and tries to gauge if she’s still annoyed with him. Reagan is tricky in the sense that he can never tell what she’s thinking. Caroline had always yelled passionately what she was thinking without Nick even getting the chance to ask. Julia and Angie hadn’t been in his life long enough for him to really care what they were thinking, or at least care to study the signs a little bit. And Jess… Well, Jess lives her life with her thoughts bursting through her doe eyes, heart on her sleeve, and a unique way about her that never left him scared to find out what she was thinking.

With Reagan, Nick Miller does not have a goddamn clue. And he likes it that way, likes the easiness it gives them, but only when it doesn’t leave him terrified. She’s in the corner of the room, taking turns between texting and rifling through her bag, and he’s trying to determine if the ignoring she’s doing is pointed or unintentional.

“So... “ He starts as he sits on the bed, the words tumbling out before he can think to stop them, “Winston tells me kitchen sink sex is fun. Maybe we should try it?”

“No, we won’t be doing that.”

“Yeah.”

Sometimes Nick really, really hates himself.

He doesn’t even  _ want _ to have sex right now. Which is a concerning thought in and of itself, because he’s a guy. Having sex is literally every other thought. But occasionally anxiety will suffocate his bones and moisten his back and force too many other destructive thoughts into his head to leave room for getting it on, and he’s definitely reaching towards Sweat Back territory.

Which is strange, considering he doesn’t think he has anything to be nervous for. It’s not like he lied to Reagan, right? She knew coming into this that he lives with ex-girlfriend. And as far as he can tell, she likes Jess. Sometimes he’ll pace outside Jess’s door, in the hallway, and try to will his ear to eavesdrop on their conservations. (Okay, so maybe he’s just trying to listen for  _ Nick _ or  _ greatest boyfriend ever  _ or  _ fantastic lover _ but, like, tomato potato, right?) And while he doesn’t ever get anything of use, he can always hear them giggling, Reagan’s low in her chest and Jess’ high pitched and awkward and sing-songy. He’s pretty sure they’re friends, as close friends as two roommates who share a romantic interest can be.

So it just seems a little crazy to Nick that Reagan is (seemingly) so affected by this. And it’s profoundly unfair because he didn’t even do anything  _ wrong _ this time, like he normally does, because Schmidt is the one who pulled him into the stupid mess in the first place.

“I know you didn’t do anything wrong, Nick. I’m not mad.”

Man, he really has to find a way to stop thinking out loud.

He twists his upper body to look over at her from where he’s sitting on the bed. It’s uncomfortable (both physically and emotionally) but he tries to keep a cool look on his face, one that says  _ me? Are you talking to me? _ “Huh? I didn’t say you were mad, no one’s mad here, we’re all happy. So.”

She’s looking at him in that way she does sometimes, like she wants to continue the conversation but doesn’t know if she really thinks it’s worth it. And that suits him just fine. The day Nick Miller wants to talk through uncomfortable conversations is the day you should order him a lobotomy. “Okay. Good. Glad to hear we’re both happy.”

To her credit, she manages to finish whatever she was doing relatively quickly and slides into her side of the bed before he finishes changing his clothes. There’s still a bit of tension in the air, felt like the absence of a breeze on a particularly humid day, but it’s manageable. And by the time Nick climbs in next to her (sans his long johns), it feels like the whole day has been forgotten.

So, like, really. Everything is fine.

.  
.  
.

Except everything is not fine and the only person who seems to notice is Jess. Par for the course, really.

It starts slowly, like most of Nick and Reagan’s problems. Little comments like the one Reagan makes when she comes with a new set of pharmaceutical pens and says, “Don’t worry, Nick, I already told them that they can’t bang Jess.” Nick laughs and makes some comment about pens not having genitals, Reagan rolls her eyes, and they move on. Jess loves the guy, she really, truly does, but  _ observant _ would not be one of his defining qualities.

(Seriously; one time, when she and Nick were Just Friends, Jess mentioned that she was going to drive down to the movie theater to catch the new Channing Tatum movie. When she asked Nick if he wanted to come along he had said yes, because he wanted some popcorn. Which was surprising because he hated watching movies with her in their apartment, much less out in public, but also nice. So they drove ten extra minutes to find a theater with the comfiest seats and Nick listened to her ramble on about the trailer. And then they parked, and they both got out of the car, and nothing was strange until Nick walked over to the driver’s seat, got in, said he was going to the store to buy some popcorn, and would pick her up when the movie was over. Really, she shouldn’t have been dumbfounded by that. Nick Miller has a lot of good qualities, but observant will never be one of them.)

She doesn’t say anything about it at first. Not Meddling In Nick and Reagan’s Relationship is one of the new things she’s trying out, fuelled mostly by an inner monologue that sounds an awful lot like Cece. And it works out pretty well for a while. There was this one time when they were all eating family dinner and Schmidt and Cece were talking about finding a new place, and Reagan asked Nick if he thought they should come up with their own No Nail Oath. And Nick had laughed again, telling Reagan “not to be ridiculous because they can bang each other all they want,” and Jess had to bite her tongue.  _ You will not interfere, Jessica Day, _ she had thought to herself.  _ They are grown adults who can solve their own problems.  _ And besides, Reagan’s not mad at Jess about the whole thing, as far as she can tell, so there’s really no point.

But Nick is her friend and Reagan is her sort-of-friend and while she might not use her talking stick anymore, Jess has a really hard time not helping her friends work through their shit. Especially when their shit includes a lot of passive aggressive comments that are, in fact, messing with the equilibrium of the apartment, which is the complete opposite of Schmidt’s original plan. The line is drawn when she gets out of the shower one Tuesday morning and finds a crumpled piece of paper stuck to the mirror with the words  _ Reagan’s No Stealing Her Toothbrush Oath _ with Nick’s scrawny signature written underneath and the word  _ Hilarious! _ next to it. Jess can only assume he means it literally and lets out a guttural groan as she tears it off. Things have officially gotten ridiculous.

That’s how she finds herself outside Nick’s room on a Saturday while Reagan’s at a conference. She has to take a breath and sing a few bars of “Shake It Off” before knocking on his door, her plan only half-formulated in her mind. When he gives the okay, she pushes her head in and smiles a little too casually. “Hey, Nick.”

He’s wearing that particular flannel shirt she likes, his body draped over the sheets on his bed, a book on his lap. A rush of affection and disbelief at the idea that this is who he is now washes over her as she stands in front of him. The smile he sends her is even more disarming and her world knocks off its axis. “Jessica Day, my good ol’ roommate. What brings you into my humble bode today?”

Hint #1 that he’s in a good mood: He’s lying on top of a perfectly made bed. (Well, perfectly made for Nick.)

Hint #2: His use of her full name.

Hint #3: The fact that he’s trying to use a word like  _ abode, _ albeit doing so incorrectly.

There’s this pattern she notices when it comes to Nick and Reagan’s relationship. They’ll encounter a problem and have a non-conversation about it. This will result in Nick thinking the issue is solved and Reagan quietly stewing in her annoyance. Then Nick will act like everything’s right in the world and be in an impossibly good mood and Reagan, eventually, will move on without a word. And the rest of the apartment will just have to wait for the inevitable dam break.

Despite herself, Jess scrunches her nose and temporarily forgets about her mission. “Uh, I think it’s actually a-bode.”

“What?” Nick’s looking at her like she’s grown three heads, as he tends to do. “That’s ridiculous, Jess. Humble  _ a _ -bode? That doesn’t make sense. You don’t say ‘welcome to my a-room.’ Unless you’re Italian, in which case that would actually totally make sense —”

“Okay, I actually didn’t come in here to debate how basic grammar works with you—”

“I’m just saying, it sounds like you’re making up words here—”

“Just, ugh! Listen to me, Nick!” Mercifully, he straightens up in his bed and widens his eyes slightly. She takes it as a sign to keep going. Not that she really knows where she’s going. “I just wanted to… Are things okay with you and Reagan?”

She watches as his face falls from concerned to something that can only be explained as his turtle face. His voice is low and laced with confusion when he says, “What do you mean? We’re fine.”

This is when Inner Cece kicks in and tells her to take his word for it and let it go. Instead, Outer Jess keeps pressing. “Are you sure? Because it kiiiiiind of seems like something might be wrong. With her. Or, I mean, on  _ her _ end. Like she might be kind of… Mad at you?”

“Jess, what are you talking about?” Jesus Christ, he’s  _ laughing  _ now. This is not good. “We’re perfectly fine! I don’t want to get too graphic,” and then he makes a face that lets her know it is definitely going to get graphic and she’s going to hate it, “but we tried out a new move last night. The angle that I had to contort my body into was insanely hard.”

_ LEAVE. THIS. ROOM.,  _ screams Inner Cece. “But what about the note on the mirror? And all the weird, passive aggressive comments she’s been making lately about the... Oath?” She shuffles slightly, eyes flitting from his face to the Bears bobblehead sitting on his windowsill. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and she’s definitely not looking at him, so there’s  _ no way _ she can see the slow dawn of realization pass over his expression.

“Wait, you think Reagan might be mad that we created an oath that prevents anyone that moves in from sleeping with my ex-girlfriend who I still live with?”

She presses her lips together into a thin, hard line, and nods once. “I think she might be?”

“But she said it was fine!” He’s entering Panic Nick mode now as he stands up and starts pacing the room. She notes, idly, that he always seems to move his hands when he talks about something stressful. “That was like, a whole  _ week _ ago! Why wouldn’t she tell me? Oh my God, what do I do?”

“Well, you could try apologizing.”

“I guess I should probably apologize,” he exclaims, giving Jess the feeling that he’s not actually listening to her. “But what do I say? ‘Sorry Schmidt thought you might bang my ex-girlfriend?’ Don’t be ridiculous, that sounds so stupid. She would laugh at me and then hang up the phone and then probably break up with me. Oh God, what if she breaks up wi—”

Jess doesn’t mean to, but she crosses over to him and places her hands on his shoulders. It’s been a minute since they’ve stood like this; barely an arm length’s between them, Nick’s brow shining with sweat, Jess’s wide eyes trying to speak earnestly. “Nick, listen to me. Stop freaking out. Reagan is not going to break up with you. Just call her, apologize for not realizing she was upset, and tell her you love her. Okay?”

(It’s strange how easy the words come to her. It’s more strange that they only hurt a little to say.)

Nick blinks and nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll call her and tell her I’m sorry and that I love her.” Beat. “I’ll call her.” Beat. “I’m gonna call her.”

Realizing their current way of standing probably isn’t helping, Jess releases his shoulders and takes a step back. She smiles. “Good. Let me know how it goes…”

But he’s already sitting back down on his bed, phone in his hand, fingers pressing down on the call button under Reagan’s contact name. Well, she supposes there’s no time quite like the present. She mouths  _ I’ll go _ and flicks her thumbs over her shoulder and towards the door. And she makes it two steps before Nick starts flailing his other hand wildly, whisper-yelling, “No, stay stay stay!” So, God help her, Jess stays. It’s quite literally the last thing she wants to do, but Nick seems to need some emotional support. Jess doesn’t have the heart to deny him that. Reagan probably won’t even pick up anyway, right?

She picks up. Nick puts her on speaker phone.

Jesus Christ.

“Hello?”

“Reagan, hey,” Nick starts, letting the ‘hey’ drag out for just a beat too long. “Nick Miller here.” Jess is frozen and panicky, powerless to do anything but watch him close his eyes and scrunch up his face and silently curse. “Jess is also here!” The words, notably, sound forcibly friendly.

“Uh, hi, Reagan!” What else can she do but play along? “How’s the conference going?”

“It’s fine…” Jess can hear the confusion coming from the other side of the phone. “What’s up, guys?”

Nick’s looking at Jess, a deer unprepared and frozen in the headlights. She shakes her head, refusing to speak. She might be here for Nick’s lack of emotional capability, but she won’t lie in the bed he’s just made. (Not that she  _ doesn’t  _ like lying in Nick’s bed. Because once upon a time she really, really liked it. But that’s neither here nor there.) So Nick starts talking again and Jess just waits for the inevitable destruction. “Well, Reagan. We— _ I _ just wanted to apologize. For the… paper you had to sign. Last week. I’m sure you know the one.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I do.”

Reagan’s always had a way of saying so much in so very little.

“Right, of course you do. You’re a very smart woman.” Nick’s body sags with a sigh. Jess flashes him a too-wide smile and a thumbs up, as a sign of encouragement. “I’m just really sorry, Reagan. I hate that this is bothering you or making you feel uncomfortable. What can I do to make things better?”

Ah, there’s the hurt she’d been expecting. It’s brought on, full-force and unrelenting, by the realization that Nick is trying to be a better boyfriend. Like,  _ actually  _ trying. Not to say he didn’t when they were together—a flash of a movie theater full with her friends and family pushes unwillingly through her brain—but they were both so young then. So immature. They walked through life thinking the love they’d found was unbreakable, bulletproof against Jess’s need to improve everyone around her and Nick’s unwillingness to chance. They both learned they were wrong without much of a fight. And now here he is, years later, doing all the things Jess had longed for him to do with someone else. God, she really needs to get out of here.

There’s silence from the other end of the phone as Jess contemplates how they got to this point. Finally, softly, Reagan mumbles, “Okay. I really don’t have time to chat, so we’ll talk about this later. Bye, Nick.” And then, after a moment, she adds, “Bye, Jess.”

“Stay cool, Reagan!” Jess really hopes the other girl can’t hear the way she’s wincing in her voice.

The room is silent for a moment after that. Nick just sits there, head in his hands, while Jess hovers and wonders when she can leave. They both know it didn’t go well, Nick’s half-assed apology and Reagan’s non-acceptance, and Jess worries her bottom lip. A strange sort of guilt gnaws at her as she watches him fold into himself. She knows she shouldn’t feel guilty—it’s not like  _ she’s _ the one who couldn’t tell Reagan was upset this whole time—but it gnaws at her all the same. Finally, she speaks up, “So…”

“So, Jess. Apologize to Reagan, you said. Great plan! Worked out perfectly!” He snaps his eyes up to look at her and while she can tell he’s only mad at himself, really, it ruffles her feathers.

Arms thrown up in feigned regret, she yells, “Oh,  _ I’m soooo sorry,  _ Nick! Clearly this is  _ all _ my fault. I should have done a better job of apologizing to YOUR girlfriend!”

This is how it usually starts between them; Nick speaks without thinking and Jess, though understanding how his brain works, fires back in kind. Anything to feel a sliver of passion. “Yeah, you should have! Now everything is worse and it’s all your fault!”

Her gasp might be dramatic, but her reaction doesn’t feel so. “I will not be blamed for the fact that you can’t talk to Reagan on your own, Nick!”

They’re standing so close now that she can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. “Well maybe if you stopped meddling around in my business, I would have figured it out!”

The thing is, he’s right. They both know it. Jess falters in her anger, shoulders sighing and her gaze morphing into simmering embarrassment. They stand like that for a moment, things unsaid lingering in the air between them. Neither knowing where to go from here. And when he finally does make a decision, he retreats back to his bed, head still in his hands, unable to look her in the eye.

“Please just leave,” Nick grumbles.

So Jess leaves.

.  
.  
.

“You  _ called _ her? With  _ Jess _ there?!”

Nick groans for what feels like the umpteenth time and presses his head against the counter. They’ve been over this before, but it always takes Schmidt a few tries to process things fully. “I don’t know, I was panicking! Jess was all, ‘Reagan’s mad at you, fix it!’ and I got nervous! You know I don’t do well under pressure. Or with conflict in general.”

“I mean, it’s kind of funny when you think about it.” Winston’s preoccupied with some sort of dismembered piece of fabric, of which he has provided no information about. Nick assumes it has something to do with Ferguson and doesn’t ask. “You know, because the whole issue is about her not sleeping with Jess and you had Jess try and solve the problem for you. You are just bad with women, my friend.”

“Wait —” Nick picks his head up to look at Schmidt, who looks both terrified and a little excited. “Do you think this is because Reagan actually  _ wants  _ to sleep with Jess? Because let me tell you, that would immediately solve all of your problems. Ever since it was revealed that Reagan and Cece had their bisexual tryst à la  _ Real World, _ our sex life has been wonderful. I’m talking audition tapes, press conferences, this new move called The Butter Churner, which is where she’s kind of like this,” he takes a pause to lift one leg above his head, contorting his body into an uncomfortable position, “but with  _ both _ legs, and you just—”

“Alright, Schmidty, enough! This isn’t helping.” Winston, of course, looks interested in The Butter Churner, but Nick just wants to get back to the issue at hand. “I don’t think Reagan wants to sleep with Jess, I just think she’s mad that that stupid oath exists and she had to sign it. And I tried to fix the situation and I just ended up making it worse. What do I do here, guys? Reagan is coming home  _ tomorrow.” _

“Flowers. Bitches looooove flowers.”

“I don’t think Reagan is a flowers kind of girl, Winston.” In fact, the idea of him handing Reagan a bouquet of roses almost makes him want to laugh. “She said she liked the peanuts that the vendor sells near Tran’s park bench. Should I buy her a bunch of peanuts? No, right? That’s stupid. Right?”

“Alright, Nick, here’s what you’ve got to do—”

“If you say butter one more time I’m going to punch you in the face, I swear to God.”

Schmidt has the audacity to look annoyed at the implication, which is  _ so _ unfair. “No, Nicholas. Buy her a massage with some of your book money and tell her to go to the appointment. She’s relaxing, getting her pamper on. She’s feeling sexy. She’s got some hot rocks on her back and, oh, is that the calming  ambient sounds of a Japanese zen garden? Then you get on Jess’ Dice account and find her a guy for the evening. Go on a double date, with you and Reagan and Jess and whatever himbo you find. Reagan will be feeling so relaxed and so relieved that Jess is banging someone new that she’ll totally forget everything.”

Nick blinks once, then twice, before making a pensive face. “That’s actually not a bad id—Wait, what’s a himbo?”

“Oh, that’s a dude who is really good at limbo. Like, the kinds of dudes that do it under fire and shit.” When Winston looks up again, he’s met with Schmidt’s dramatically horrified face and Nick’s frown of disdain. “Is that not what we’re talking about?”

Schmidt can only sigh dramatically before looking at Nick. “Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to repair a mauled hat that his cat refused to wear for some ungodly reason. His opinion means nothing. A himbo is the male version of a bimbo. A guy who’s pretty hot but also kind of dumb.”

“Oh, so like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

“I don’t think you can be dumb and be the governer of California.”

Nick lets out a laugh and gestures to Winston, as if to say,  _ this guy. _ “Clearly you don’t understand anything about politics.”

“Look, I will help you pick a date for Jess. Lord knows we need to get her laid anyway. Let me pull up her account.” And then, before anyone really knows what is going on, Schmidt is pulling out his phone and swiping furiously with his fingers. Left, left, left, left, right, left.

“I’m sorry, do you have Jess’s Dice account on your phone?”

“Of course I do. I do not trust that girl with herself. The last date she went on was with an amateur magician. A freakin’  _ magician.  _ What is she, the forgettable female lead in a flopped Nicholas Cage movie? What are the merits of that?”

“Well, free entertainment at birthday parties, free quarters that get stuck behind people’s ears, bunnies…”

And, okay, things are getting wildly out of hand. “Listen, no. I’m not going to make Jess go on a date with some hobo just so I can make up with my girlfriend. I’m just going to have to handle this like an adult. A real man. El macho.” He claps a few times and widens his smile, eyes looking manically around. “And I have the perfect way to do it.”

“You have no clue what you’re gonna do, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

.  
.  
.

Don’t tell Schmidt, but Nick considers the idea of the double date for longer than he probably should.

In fact, he spends the better part of an hour researching massage parlors in the area (and then another hour or two pursuing, well,  _ other interests  _ on the internet. Like he’s said since the beginning, he’s a guy). But the options and the prices and the details get too confusing, so he gives up. Plus, there’s the whole “Jess would also have to find a date” thing, which is another downside. He doesn’t want to do that to her. And it’s not because he hates to see her with other guys, it’s really not anymore, but more of the fact that it feels like a sort of betrayal. Why should she have to suffer so that he can get his girlfriend to forgive him?

Nick groans. He still is no closer to coming up with a plan to apologize to Reagan… Or to Jess. Somehow the fight they had after the disaster of a phone call rings more relentlessly in his head. He’s pulled her into an unfair situation because he’s a coward and then blamed her for it. It should mean something that the majority of their fights have occurred after she’s tried to help his relationship with his girlfriend, but it doesn’t. Nick has gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing. Like, he didn’t get  _ over  _ Jess, per se, just packed their romantic relationship up into a suitcase and left it locked in a corner of his mind. A very deep corner. And he left Friend-slash-Roommate Jess out in the open, free to roam around. (And, well, maybe that’s the problem. Because while it’s easy to keep the Jesses separate in most everyday life, it’s a little harder to ignore when they’re fighting about his relationships. Something she happens to have an acute knowledge of.)

It's that Jess, Friend-slash-Roommate Jess, that yells repeatedly in his brain to figure out a plan because he's running out of time. So he sits on his bed and concentrates on the scary looking spot on his ceiling, the one that's dark and spiny and probably two seconds away from leaking, and asks himself how Julius Pepperwood would apologize to two women for being an ass. He comes through in the end, as Pepperwood always does. 

With Reagan, the apology is grand and romantic because it has to be. She’s a girl with few words and even fewer things, but he knows that even she can appreciate a good gesture. And because he’s best when he’s working under a tight deadline, he thinks he pretty much nails it. The plan involves a very rare top-of-the-line suitcase he knows she’s been eyeing and a pretty terrible homemade dinner and very little talking through the actual problem, but Reagan ruffs up his hair and calls him an idiot like it’s an affectionate thing to say, so. He pretty much counts it as a win. A temporary win, maybe, but a win all the same.

With Jess, it’s gotta be a lot simpler. Which makes it, like, a million times harder. Jess is all about  _ feelings  _ and  _ explanations _ and  _ secrets.  _ She yearns for people to tell her things they’d never told anyone else. Not to feel smug or superior; so she can feel closer to someone. He’s tried to blame her for that for a long time. Now, though, he thinks he might understand. Maybe it’s because he’s (somewhat reluctantly) finally growing up, or maybe it’s because his girlfriend rarely feels like sharing anything important with him. And it’s odd, really, because he never cared about that before. Late twenties Nick would have killed for a relationship like the one he’s in now. Late thirties Nick, however, is feeling a bit hollow and unfulfilled.

Anyway, that’s all just to say that he knows what Jess needs. 

So approximately sixteen hours after their fight, Nick decides to finally finish a project he’d been helping Jess work on for her school. He’d stubbornly told her he could build a bigger and better treasure chest for the spring musical —which he absolutely should  _ not _ have agreed to do because it was a damn bitch to finish—and procrastinated on it for about ten days longer than he should have. And it takes him all afternoon, and three ignored phone calls from his publisher, but he feels pretty good about it by the end. Feels solid and good and accomplished.

By the time he knocks on Jess’ door with the awkwardly-sized box in his hands it’s nearing ten pm. She’s wearing her polka dot pajamas and she has some kind of mask on her face and she looks impossibly, unfairly, adorable. Even as Nick tries to hide his smile he knows he's failing horribly. “Hey, Nick. Is that my treasure chest?”

“Aye, matey!” Alright, remember to never let him attempt that accent again. “I mean, yeah. Sorry it’s so late. And really heavy.”

She’s chuckling softly as she takes it from him, her knees buckling slightly from the weight of it. “I got it, I got it,” she mumbles as her arms struggle to place it in the corner of her room. Nick just stands in the doorway, watching her, knowing better than to force his help. After a few painful minutes she stands up and examines it with a pleased sort of smile. Nick has no change but to mirror it. “Thanks, Nick. It looks really great.”

“No problem.” It feels like everything’s already forgiven, really, but he knows he has to try and get his way through an apology anyway. “Look, about yesterday—”

“Nick, it’s fine, we were both overreacting—”

“Jess, just…” He pauses. Sighs. Continues. “Just let me apologize, okay? You were right. You shouldn’t have to help me talk to my girlfriend. It was unfair to put you in that position and I’m sorry. I just get so crazy about saying or doing the wrong thing because I never know what Reagan wants. And I don’t want to screw up this relationship, you know?”

Her smile is soft and forgiving as she nods once, then twice. “I know, Nick. And if you ever want advice, I’m always here to talk. Just  _ maybe _ don’t have me around when you try to talk to Reagan about fights in the future?”

God, she’s just so  _ good.  _ Nick doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it. He chuckles and shoves his hands into his pockets, hoping that’ll stop them from rubbing at her shoulder like they want to. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal. No more putting Reagan on speakerphone or leaving sticky notes on the bathroom mirror.”

“Okay, good. Because that was really messing up my nighttime routine. You know it’s very complicated.”

“Yeah, I know. It takes you twenty minutes just to wash your face and take out your contacts. Requires a lot of focus.”

“Uh, yeah, it does! You know me, Jessica Day, the Beauty Routine Queen.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling you these days? I must have missed that.”

And suddenly they’re laughing like they used to, back before the weight of their real lives started pushing down on them. It’s so comfortable that it almost feels unfamiliar, somehow. He’s struggling to remember the last time they could just talk easily like this without having to also worry about something else. It probably doesn’t help that she’s kind of looking at him like she used to, like she’s the only person in the world that knows that Nick can sometimes be good too. It unnerves him and itches at his skin and screams at him to stop this moment before he lives too long in it.

“Alright, well. I just wanted to apologize. So, again, I am very sorry.”

He watches her smile fall from free to guarded and wishes it didn’t make him so angry with himself. “Thank you.” Because she’s braver than him, she pushes her body forward to hug him for a short, glorious moment. “Goodnight, Nick.”

He smiles and nods and forces his body back into the hallway. “Night, Jess.”

She closes the door slowly, as though she’s afraid to send him back into a space where they have defined boundaries. He stares at her room for a beat longer than necessary before returning back to his room.

And the world continues to spin on its axis.

.  
.  
.

Two days later, Schmidt stalks over to Nick in the kitchen, eyes cast down to the floor and face sulking. Nick, in turn, looks disgusted.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, Nick,” Schmidt starts as he leans against the island. “I’ve been doing some reflecting during my early morning yog’ sesh and I think I may have caused some problems with the whole ‘make Reagan sign the oath’ thing.”

Nick only can stare. “You think?”

Schmidt finally looks up, expression forlorn. “It’s just, well, I really wanted to do right by the loft, you know? Marie Kondo this bitch. Feng our shui. Yin the yang. And anyway, I just wanted to apologize. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Ah, it’s alright, Buddy. To tell you the truth, I think we had some of our own issues that we needed to work through. And in a weird way, your terrible loft meeting helped us do that.” Nick’s smile is soft, genuine, as he taps Schmidt’s shoulder gently.

Schmidt’s looking hopeful now, and like he’s dangerously close to giving Schmidt a hug. He really hopes he doesn’t. “So we’re cool?”

“Yeah, Schmidty. We’re cool.” In lieu of a true hug they clasp hands and pat each other on the back. You know, as real men do.

“Alright!” Schmidt explains.

“Alright,” Nick returns.

“Now that you and Reagan are back in business, I feel like we should revisit the Butter Churner move. I really think you’d like it —”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, SCHMIDT.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this ending wasn't very satisfying, but I had a lot of fun writing it. And I hope you enjoyed reading it!


End file.
